


Mad Scientists Just Wanna Have Fun

by hydesboy



Category: Frankenstein - Mary Shelley, Herbert West - Reanimator - H. P. Lovecraft, Metropolis (1927), The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde - Robert Louis Stevenson
Genre: Other, basically just a mess of characters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-06
Updated: 2018-08-06
Packaged: 2019-06-22 18:01:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,907
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15587571
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hydesboy/pseuds/hydesboy
Summary: Basically this is just me trying to work out how to write my actual world hahah





	Mad Scientists Just Wanna Have Fun

**Author's Note:**

> Credits, disclaimers and all that jazz:  
> Well, we all know that I didn’t create all of the characters in this so here’s a list of those who did!
> 
> OCs:  
> Agatha Alderford: Mine  
> Aiden Grimmelken: Me as well  
> Montgomery Clifford Westley: Mine  
> Bartholomew Humphrey Haynes: Yeee boi that one’s mine!  
> Darla: fanboy (Jekyll and Hyde Amino)  
> Alex Wilson: TRIXTER (Jekyll and Hyde Amino)  
> Wallas Otis Wheaton: Oh-My-That’s-an-Owl (Jekyll and Hyde Amino)  
> Francis Mendel: SquareFriend (Jekyll and Hyde Amino)
> 
> Canon:  
> Herbert West: H.P. Lovecraft  
> Victor Frankenstein: Mary Shelly  
> Edward Hyde: Robert Louis Stevenson  
> Rotwang: Fritz Lang

Between the primary spaces there are places that are neither here nor there, simultaneously existing within both and nowhere, these being the secondary spaces. To stumble upon a secondary space truly was no easy feat, for these are hidden in the most inconspicuous of locations within the primary spaces - though of course were accessed with ease from the half space - and was made even harder still as only those with just the right countenance of spirit to have these spaces open up to them. There may be more than one entrance to a secondary space, with both wildly different locational and time-related distances from one another. A secondary space is rarely inhabited, occupants not coming naturally but would have to give up their place within their primary space in order to live within a timeless secondary space, sacrificing the life they had for a sense of immortality. Visitors, however, were a frequent presence within once they were granted access to what could be considered a world within a world for a short period of time. Time, however, did not exist within a secondary space, mere seconds passing in the primary space the visitor came from between them entering and exiting the secondary space.  
One such space opened into the rather homely walls of a tavern that only became available to the primary spaces at the beginning of the evening and remained accessible until the last person left, a fickle space this was indeed. As rare as it may be, this space did hold occupants, a charming darker skinned elderly woman with a wholly grandmotherly vibe to her who went by the name of Ms. Agatha Alderford, never married and damned proud of it, and a significantly younger chap, who couldn’t be much older than eighteen at most, with mesmerising emerald eyes that distracted from the jagged scar that ran from his jaw to the corner of his mouth who called himself Aiden Grimmelken. The two of them worked happily to keep the visitors of the tavern, of which thankfully seemed to never be capable of running out of supplies – one of the wonders of a secondary space – happy and well fed during their stay.  
The visitors of this specific space were very particular indeed, for each of them shared one very certain trait among them. Each and every one of them in one way or another dabbled in science in such a way that their pursuits would be deemed ‘wholly mad’ by the general public, people who simply couldn’t comprehend the wondrous work that each and every one of them had dedicated their lives to. Of course much the same could be said about those who lived within the space, after all, Agatha certainly had not developed her own personal kinds of alcohol combinations overnight, especially considering she had unique something to suit each visitor’s personal taste, and Aiden had been tinkering with robotics for as long as he could remember, the result of this meant there were several clockwork creatures decorating the building though there wasn’t much these creatures could do, though neither of these could hardly hold a candle to the works of the visitors.  
Like clockwork, the first of the regular visitors burst through the door, his presence being known with his loud exclamation of,  
“God damn the impertinence of the man! Even now the puritanical fool breaths down my neck!”  
On first glance, the man appeared almost angelic, his soft looking blond hair cropped oh so neat and tidy, his slender, almost feminine physique hidden beneath a long, sweeping black greatcoat. Then it is that you could catch sight of his eyes, an icy blue that seemed to simultaneously disregard all those around him while having an oddly probing look to them, magnified slightly by the boxy glasses he wore. This man was a certain Doctor Herbert West of Arkham, hailing from the 1920s, and was a particularly young man himself, a recent graduate of the Miskatonic Medical School.  
“Will you be having the usual, Dr West?” the man asked from behind the counter, putting just that little bit more emphasis in the honorific, knowing that doing so delighted the man very much, not that he really expressed this, mind you, but there was a flash of happiness in the man’s usually quite steely eyes, giving a glimpse of him as he really was, a youth.  
West gave a vague gesture with his hand as he plonked himself down on one of the plush chairs surrounding the crackling fire with a odd elegance, the gesture that he gave was very much a ‘do as you will’ kind of gesture, and Aiden knew not to bother the man further while he was in one of his moods, instead passing the order along to Ms Alderford, who cheerily set herself to work with making the concoction, this kind of thing being her personal call in the man scientist arts.  
By the time the odd, metallic looking liquid, its appearance being akin to mercury, though Agatha insisted there wasn’t any of the metal in the beverage as it was highly dangerous and she would be loath to poison a man who tried to drown his sorrows, was being delivered to the sulky scientist by the fire, the door swung open again, though with significantly less force than it was previously. The sound of voices prompted the man to scurry back to his workplace quickly.  
“So I says to ‘im, ‘It ain’t the plant I’m worryin’ ‘bout, I can ‘andle it meself, bu’ if you ain’t got rid o’ that by next time I ain’t sure what’s gonna ‘appen to you!’ bu’ ‘course ‘e didn’t listen!” one of the newcomers regaled to the other, who laughed a quiet, polite laugh behind his hand.  
“The world holds a great many fools, but you needn’t suffer their ignorance.” The soft and refined voice of the man was in complete contrast to the thickness of the other’s, which somehow worked together quite well.  
Not once have these men arrived alone, though it wasn’t entirely clear of the manner of their relationship outside of working together, the more intoxicated they became the closer they got to one another which may suggest something. One of the two appeared the perfect gentleman, a monogrammed pocket watch ticking close to his heart in the pocket of his perfectly cut waistcoat which complemented his suit jacket and trousers perfectly, there being an odd elegance to his movements, his freckled face rarely giving anything away, his eyes a steely grey, his hair an unruly mess of dark brown that stood out against his particularly ghostly pale skin. This man was Bartholomew Humphry Haynes, oldest son of Preston and Margery Haynes, a member of the well respected and highly influential Haynes family. The other was less well put together, beige trousers being held up by jet black suspenders, the top two buttons of his white shirt being undone, the round lenses of his glasses giving him a general look of an owl, magnifying his sapphire eyes somewhat, though unlike his companion, his flaming red hair was slicked back well. This was Montgomery “Monty” Clifford Westley. Both of these men belonged to the 1930s.  
“What colour’ll be today, men?” Aiden asked when they reached the counter, Monty resting his elbows on it which made Bartholomew tsk quietly to himself.  
“Red for us both, thank you, sir.” Bartholomew replied, suggesting this had already been discussed.  
“Rose today, is it boys?” a cheerful voice called from further into the building, belonging to the elderly woman, “I do love roses.” she sounded wistful and almost dreamy for a moment before he added, “Won’t be a moment.”  
With this said, the two sauntered over to a couch by one of the coffee tables. This particular table was decorated with numerous scientific texts, as well as volumes that may seem to be of interest to those of a scientific mindset. Ever since these particular men began to frequent the tavern there was a text retaining to the properties of plants.  
Even before the beverages were brought out, the air soon took on a rather pleasant scent of roses to it, not enough to be overpowering but certainly enough to be noticeable amongst the midst of the other smells that were far less subtle than the floral. The beverage itself was rather beautiful, a dazzling wine the colour of the most elegant of red roses, a single petal belonging to a white rose floating within the sea of red.  
It was not uncommon for the amount of people to rise consistently after the first few showed their faces, and it was no different this day of days.  
There was an almost reluctance to how the door was opened this time as if the person was unsure of whether they wished to proceed, though clearly decided for it as a woman did indeed slip inside, though unlike the previous arrivals she did not say anything to announce her presence. It seems that she had come from home before she had decided to head off, dressed in significantly more comfortable attire, a well-cut vest and simple skirt being far more preferable than something that may seem needlessly prim and proper. Her mismatched eyes of brown and green – a result of previous experimentation one would assume, though no one had thought to actually ask – lay behind teal tinted lenses, neat brown hair reaching just above her shoulders. This charming young lady was Alex Wilson.  
“Nothing for me quite yet, if you don’t mind?” With this said, she made her way to a slightly more secluded nook of the tavern, as was her want. She would end up getting something though, they always did after a while, otherwise, they wouldn’t have come.  
Tragically, the first man who had arrived that day, Dr. West, had a particular habit of monologuing when he allowed himself to dwell on his thoughts for too long, and his silence following his arrival was certainly a sign of a particularly intense explosion of emotion.  
“The damnable fool!” he hissed out as if on cue, though this was largely ignored by the others in the building, aside from Monty who gave a brief, curious glance before resuming his hushed whispering with Bartholomew, as they were far too used to his nonsense to really care. “Even now he continues meddle in my research.” There was no use questioning who it was this was directed at, his disgruntled ramblings regarding the dean of the university that he recently graduated from but returned to for postgraduate research, Dean Allen Halsey.  
The blond man was still ranting by the time the next patron made his made inside. This newcomer was most likely the oldest of the visitors of the tavern. With his retreating hairline turning into a mess of wild, silver hair, heavy black coat and somewhat darker waistcoat he didn’t seem all that impressive, though his mechanical left hand gave more than a simple hint of him being something else. He was a man of few words, Rotwang of 1910s Germany was, though what he lacked in the verbose department he certainly made up in his expressiveness of gesture, which was all the more impressive when you saw the way his mechanical arm moved precisely as his missing arm would certainly have.  
“Much progress today?” Aiden asked the man after announcing his arrival so that his beverage would be prepared, sounding genuinely curious as the older man had a similar desire to his, though his was significantly more than the basic tinkering that Aiden contented himself with.  
“Ja,” the man replied proudly, “She is beautiful.” There was a fire in the man’s eyes as he said this, thoughts of his lovely animatron bringing a smile to his face.  
The dazzling gold of the beverage that was handed to the man was a stark difference to the near monochromatic colours of the man who took it, the liquid moving thickly in the glass as he made his way over to the fireplace, nodding a polite greeting to the other person there, who had fallen into a sullen silence again.  
The next person who arrived was not announced verbally, but instead with a scent of burning gunpowder, a rather heavy scent that was entirely at home among those who frequented the area. The woman’s dark brown hair was short and choppy, a result of her work among bombs, her clothing - consisting of her labcoat and pyjamas, black shorts and a purple shirt reading ‘Give Me Food’, underneath – had a fine dusting of ash from her exploits of the day. This youth went by the name of Darla, though had yet to announce her surname, which remained a mystery.  
“Blimey!” she declared, sitting herself down at one of the chairs by the counter, “Th’ usual, please, god knahs I need i’!”  
“Long day?” the man behind the counter asked, glancing behind him to determine whether the older woman had heard this or not.  
“Ain’t none o’ ya business, is i’?” she snapped in response.  
Aiden raised his hands in a most pacifying manner, “Yeah nah, I get it, you don’t have to explain.” he replied, quickly aiming to neutralise the situation as he handed over an oddly smoky smelling concoction of a pleasant, light green hued clear liquid.  
Before the altogether awkward conversation could progress further, the door thankfully swung open, announcing the presence of another person, a fact of which was much appreciated.  
If one were not familiar with the man who walked in the door, they would surely have been frightened, though those in the tavern had long since grown accustomed to this, though he still won adoring looks from Monty, and Bartholomew seemed impressed, a rare thing indeed. The cause of this was due to the plants that sprouted from his body. Bursting out from the empty socket of his left eye were three small plants that resembled a kind of venus flytrap, vines, assumedly from the same plant had ruptured out of each of his left limbs, which curled down the limb through a tear in his clothes. There was an odd quivering from the man’s lower back, a hole in his labcoat and green t-shirt revealing the cause, the head of a significantly larger of these venus flytrap plants lurking within. If it weren’t for the plants that were growing from within him, he would have appeared to be a quite approachable chap, with his sparkly green eyes and dark brown hair swept behind his ears. This slightly unsettling man was Francis Mendel, who simply went by his surname, his first being lost to him.  
“Nothing quite yet, thank you.” the newcomer said to the man behind the counter who gave him a quizzical look, the hint of a German accent lying in his voice. With this said, he made his way over to an empty table, sitting perhaps a tad awkwardly in order to accommodate each and every one of the plants in order to accommodate their comfort, somewhat prioritising them over his own.  
There was a relative peace in the tavern up until this moment, though this was certainly going to be shattered as the next man made his way into the building. He was well put together, neatly cropped moustache and well styled was a rich brown that was mirrored in his eyes, an expensive looking silver silk scarf tied neatly around his throat, a lighter grey to his greatcoat, making his black trousers and waistcoat stand out significantly more than it may have otherwise. He was a respectable looking, if not a tad overzealous young man from 1810s Italy, this man going by the name of Victor von Frankenstein.  
“The usual.” Dr. Frankenstein asked of his beverage.  
Admittedly there was no actual need for this request, it being more of a formality built on habit, as quite literally each and every time a person visited they would initially start with the same beverage, of which was crafted specifically for the scientist in question.  
Having his beverage handed to him, which appeared to be completely clear and void of colour until it hit the right lighting, which filled the glass with a dazzling silver, he thanked the man behind the counter. There was something particularly pointed about the way he sat himself down by the fire, across from the man who was already there, still fuming significantly. Thankfully neither of the men were intoxicated at the present moment, but there was certainly a degree of hostility between the two nonetheless.  
For those who existed within a primary space the fact that each evening seemed to progress in much the same way would be missed, starting off with everyone in a kind of quiet reserve before the alcohol they were consuming began to take effect, slightly intoxicated folk with a similar mindset sharing a primarily pleasant night’s conversation. Of course, this was a source of amusement for those who existed within the space, though as a space that simultaneously existed within and outside of time it would not be hard to miss these consistencies.  
During the time it took for the men to shoot each other a particularly unneeded glare, a somewhat shorter, slightly chubby chap made his way into the building. His green eyes regarded the other folk in the building with a kind of disdain as he approached the counter. He hadn’t bothered to make himself any more presentable, not seeing any reason as to why he’d need to, leaving his white dress shirt untucked and his red tie loose, hands in the pockets of his slacks. The Panamanian man, who brushed a tuft of his curly dark hair from falling in front of his glasses, was Wallas Otis Wheaton.  
“Now or later?” the man behind the counter asked, a brief gesture with his head towards where the elderly woman was, who was currently disregarding the warning labels of several alcoholic beverages, transferring portions of several strong-smelling liquids into one glass with a pipet.  
“Now.” Wallas said, sounding much like he thought the man was an idiot for having to ask, despite the fact his answer varied from day to day. His voice seeming to be disproportionally high pitched.  
Aiden was more than accustomed to such a behaviour by this stage, simply taking the glass that was handed to him, passing it over to the man of who it belonged. The beverage had a pleasant looking purple tint to it, ice cubes bobbing leisurely in the slightly thick liquid. The most recent newcomer simply sat himself down at the counter, keeping somewhat of a distance from the woman who was nursing her beverage that was already there.  
It was not all that long before conversations began to pick up among the people clustered inside, their tongues having been gradually loosened by the exquisite and unique alcohol provided free of charge – after all, what use would money be when supplies were constant – people more often than not coming back for more on at least one occasion. Even those who had initially chosen to go without could now be seen with a glass in their hand. There was something oddly addictive about the beverages produced there, though if pressed on the matter Agatha would simply pass it off as it being because each drink she made was one of a kind, an odd twinkle in her eye as she said this.  
Of course, such peace was never to last. With the already hostile mood that a certain blue eyes bespectacled young man was in, it was without question that he was practically a ticking timebomb. Before all to long, his voice did ring out above the chattering of the other people, shrill and almost defensive.  
“You’re absolutely daft if you believe there is even a fraction of a chance that your absolute malarkey has even the slightest possibility of success over my research!” West exclaimed, unaware of the volume of his speech.  
“You believe there is more validity to your utter poppycock holds any degree of superiority?” Frankenstein retorted, matching his volume to the other.  
“To attempt to bring life to a conglomeration of unrelated body parts is foolish at best!” the blond huffed, clearly thinking is work to be superior, a belief that the person he so frequently argued with had of his own.  
“I carefully select only the most suitable parts in order to ensure perfection upon my doubtless success,” the other replied, “Which is more than I’m sure you could say of your subjects. Why, I can’t rightly see the difference between the dregs and the imbecile who thought it to be wise to use them.”  
“You think me to be an imbecile, sir?” Herbert exclaimed, rising to his feet. While this had been intended to be threatening, the man himself did not seem to be exactly the most strong individual, and so took the majority of the impact out of the action. “While you go around with your bumbling arts and craft project I am achieving greatness!”  
These were bold claims indeed, and Victor slapped the arms of his chair heavily as he rose to his feet to not only match the other man, but to then tower over him, the dark- haired chap being at least half a head taller than the other. It seemed that the others were quite content to ignore this, even Rotwang, who had shuffled his chair back somewhat as to avoid being practically in the middle of the quarrelling men. It was ironic that the two did come at odds with one another, considering both had the ultimate goal of bringing what was once dead back to life once again, meaning it would be significantly more beneficial for both if they were to work together, share notes with one another and enable both of their works to progress. But no, it seems the men were far more content to go to war with each other over the differences in research than they were to collaborate on the similarities.  
The two continued to hurl insults at one another for quite some time, or at least longer than usual. Normally they would simmer down to simple grumbling at the other’s expense when the heat of the moment died down, but presently it seemed that it was not only going to not die down but was going to continue to burn until it reached a raging inferno of spite. Thankfully, a reply from the moustachioed fellow was cut short by an exasperated voice from one of the people currently residing by the bar.  
“Oh, would you malditos cabrones shut up for once in your goddamned life?” The speaker, Wallas, had looked over from where he sat, frustration burning from within his eyes.  
It seemed that this much needed interruption had not only shocked the raging men into a silence, but the whole tavern. Using this momentary lull of aggression, the older man rose from his chair by the fire, putting a hand – intentionally the mechanical – on West’s shoulder.  
“Easy boy, no reason to argue.” Rotwang said gently, leading the still fuming man away, “Come away now.” He was not a man who would speak often, and English was not his first language, but he tried to use this moment to pacify, or at the very least separate, the two men, not wanting them to be at each others’ throats and ruin the evening for the others with their needless hostilities.  
Rotwang shot Bartholomew and Monty a rather apologetic glance as he deposited the re-animator on the empty chair near them, shrugging slightly to them as he returned to his seat by the fire.  
A heavy silence filled the room, broken occasionally by the odd cough, faked of course, as it was clear the whole situation was slightly getting to them due to the fact it had escalated significantly beyond the levels they had become used to of the two. Like a good Haynes should, Bartholomew broke the tension with idle conversation with Monty, and technically to Herbert who was now located near him, after all, a Haynes really ought to be able to defuse a situation, and if he cannot, draw the situation away as to leave tensions forgotten when it does not aid in his endeavours.  
“My main issue,” the freckled man said, as if his conversation had not at all been interrupted, “Since they are so wholly acclimatised to the Scandinavian forests, we cannot be certain they will even be able to sufficiently thrive within the greenhouse.”  
With this entirely simple statement being said, conversations slowly began to build up once again, albeit being slightly held back by the constrains built of the bindings of hesitancy.  
Before all too long, it was as if there hadn’t been such a disruptive argument at all, which really was a relief for the collective, though Herbert was still sulking and Victor was only adding what was required to conversation – both nursing their bruised egos. Scraps of conversation floated about the air, the good humour gradually returning to the tavern.  
“If I ‘ad a dime faw th’ amoun’ ov people I wan’ed t’ punch ou’ ‘oday, I swear ta gawd!”  
“Herr Fredersen still believes that the animatron will love him, the fool! She is sure to see my level of dedication!”  
“I do have to be particularly careful to get both the timing and order precisely the same, otherwise it would run the risk of denaturing before it reaches the particularly difficult part.”  
Much to Bartholomew’s amusement, Monty was replying in a needlessly loud voice, certainly trying to draw the attention of a certain individual who housed plants within his body, though it really just made him seem obnoxiously enthusiastic about a specific genus of fern as Mendel was preoccupied with his own conversation with Alex regarding her research.  
Peace really was most fleeting, the comfortable lull immediately falling to pieces the instant the door was kicked open. There was something odd about the shorter than average man who so unceremoniously burst into the room, looking like a clash of two worlds, his clothes seemed of a fine make, the kind that certainly would have cost a pretty penny, but was also at least one size too big on the man, the trouser legs needing to be rolled up, his dark brown coat swimming over his form. Even if the odd green itself – just that little too bright - didn’t give off such an impression, the intensity that burnt within his eyes suggested a distinct impression of oddness, his dark brown hair flowed in ragged waves to just above his shoulders. Though no one had explicitly enquired on the topic, the sheer fact that this man, Edward Hyde, had began to appear not long after another regular – Doctor Henry Jekyll – began bragging about an outstanding success in his research on the duality of man – the separation of ego and id from one’s soul in a literal sense – suggested they were much the same person. This was further proven by the fact this man used the same distinctive cane that the good Dr. Jekyll used.  
It was this precise cane that he used to rap in the counter, this really being an unnecessary display of rudeness considering the man he was summoning by doing so was already there.  
“A little of anything or everything!” he practically demanded, his voice having an unpleasant gravelly hoarseness to it, suggesting that it wasn’t necessarily a natural voice for his vocal cords to produce. The man already reeked of alcohol and something else that was particularly unpleasant, suggesting this was not the first stop the man had taken that night, nor was it likely to be the last if his transformation remained stable enough to accommodate further debauchery.  
Aiden was normally quite accustomed to the tomfoolery of the those who visited the tavern, but there was something altogether off-putting about the man that he wasn’t rightly able to develop the same nonchalance to him, the reckless irregularity making it quite impossible to fall into any sort of routine with him, which was what unsettled him the most, the golden brown-haired chap certainly being one for at least a degree of routine among the chaos.  
“Won’t be a moment, sir.”  
Due to the complexity, not to mention agonizingly vagueness, of the man’s order, it seems the preparation look just that little bit too long for the man’s clearly non-existent patience.  
“Now, lad,” Unfortunately the youth was that little too close to the man, allowing him the perfect opportunity to run a fingertip gently – but all the more tormenting for all the gentility – across the scar adorning his cheek as he said, “We don’t want to keep me waiting, do we?”  
Aiden, who had no say in the speed of the creation of beverage, yelped and took a startled step back, tragically causing him to step on the back of his other foot in his haste to retreat, sending him tumbling unceremoniously to the floor, sending the odd whatnot to fall around him, including a small mechanical bird that continued to follow its loop even as it fell.  
As the man laughed his unpleasant grating laugh, the kind that really would put a person on edge, the elderly woman emerged from her little workshop where she mixes her concoctions, summoned out by all the ruckus.  
“Oh deary me,” Agatha sighed, quickly surveying the situation, “Are you alright, dear?” she asked the distraught looking youth on the ground, who nodded whether it was the truth or not, sounding entirely grandmotherly. Any sense of this grandmotherliness wholly vanished when she looked over to the man who was the cause of this. “I will have to ask you, sir, to not harass those accommodating your requests.” She let this linger in the air, but before the man had a chance to reply she practically threw a glass at him, the beverage being a not all that appealing looking, murky grey with a thick texture. “Here, ‘anything and everything’, now sit and we’ll have no more of that funny business, thank you very much!”  
It took the combined strength of both Monty and Darla, who were the closest at the time, to stop Hyde from hauling himself over the counter after the old woman, murder in his eyes.  
“Steady now, man!” Monty exclaimed, “It ain’t worth losin’ yer ‘ead over!”  
Darla was having her own struggle with preventing him from spilling the beverage, which Agatha would insist was neither at risk of combustion or exploding, as she took his other arm to drag him back, exclaiming a loud, “Oi!” when he tried to buck out of their grips.  
As the two dragged Hyde away, depositing him in a chair under strict instructions to stay, despite knowing full well that he wouldn’t, Bartholomew had almost elegantly hoisted himself over the counter, landing without a sound – signs of having had done similar things in the past, though under different circumstances and locations – crouching beside the person there.  
“Are you quite alright? That was…” he trailed off, spying a small but heavily bleeding scrape over his eyebrow, assumedly having been hit by something that fell, “Oh dear!” The Brit rose to his feet, “Dr. West? Do you have a moment?” Though he was sure that he could have cleaned and tended to the wound well enough with what he found, ever the pacifier, he knew it would far suit the blond to be of help, hopefully putting an end to his brooding by doing so.  
The wound was not particularly serious, looking worse than it really was, but that did not stop Herbert from making somewhat of a show out of the whole thing.  
Hardly wanting to leave Hyde to his own devices, a recipe for certain disaster if ever there was one, Mendel and Rotwang took it upon themselves to join him at the table he had been dumped on, both hoping that it wasn’t a precaution that was necessary, though it was definitely better to be safe than sorry. They utilised this moment to share idle conversation, conversation which was certainly easier for the older of the two thanks to the hint of a German accent in the other’s voice making it easier for him to understand. Hyde was entirely ignoring them, the only thing stopping him from leaving was the fact they had quite literally had him boxed in a corner, certainly not helping him in his foul mood.  
West shot a particularly smug glance at Victor as he passed, gloating silently that it was his expertise that was asked for. He sat himself not all that far from Wallas, who barely acknowledged him, though was dragged into a begrudging sharing of pleasantries before he questioned him in regards to his research, which at least managed to make him seem less surly. It was an interesting topic indeed, and they discussed in lengths of the manner of cloning, or more specifically, Herbert offered the right questions to prompt elaboration.  
It really was quite a sight, to see people from not only different locations but different times mingling so naturally within the secret that was theirs and only theirs. It was truly a world that belonged to them, a place where they ruled. The world solely for those who partake in the fine art of mad scientist. Certainly this was the only place that Frankenstein and Wilson could happily play pool together, or Darla and Wallas discuss the folly that is the human race and what the world would be without such creatures defiling it without having their beliefs questioned.  
Of course, nothing could last forever, and eventually people began to trickle out again, starting with Rotwang who claimed he had a soul he needed to restore to life within the animatron, While there was nothing from stopping them from remaining within the secondary space for as long as they wanted, deep down they knew they would have to leave and return to reality. The harsh reality where their beliefs were treated as insane, as sacrilege as something to fear. But a common belief shared by each and every person who frequented the tavern was that their work was far more important than any personal prosecution, and so they needed to persevere in their research, bringing it to its completion. Well, that and if they hadn’t made more progress there would be nought to brag about to the others.  
The tavern was so quiet when it was empty, even Hyde having been quite literally thrown out by Bartholomew and Montgomery before they left, the near silence being almost disproportionate to reality after the liveliness of the evening.  
Aiden knew they would return. They always did, but the waiting before they did always seemed hellish. Each night he considered following the others out, leaving the space, but the thoughts disappeared as soon as they came when he caught sight of the scar gracing his face, reminding him of why he had forsaken his world for this purgatory. He had forsaken his life for a place beyond. His world had long since ceased being anywhere beyond these walls and he was happy of this. This was his world, and he and Agatha would wait within. Wait for the others to come, like the waves of the ocean washing in only to retreat moments later.  
 


End file.
